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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28348452">Heavy is the Head</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sagesiren/pseuds/sagesiren'>sagesiren</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Arthurian legend - Freeform, F/M, Steggy Secret Santa, gratuitous use of storytelling as plot device, medieval setting</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:34:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,498</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28348452</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sagesiren/pseuds/sagesiren</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy contends with the pros (unfettered access to palace prisoners) and cons (uncomfortable seating options) of being Queen of Camelot</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Heavy is the Head</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifulwhensarcastic/gifts">beautifulwhensarcastic</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>My Steggy Secret Santa gift for the lovely beautifulwhensarcastic :) Merry (belated) Christmas, hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>The throne was uncomfortable. It was sturdy and strict, the arms and back at harsh right angles, without any fabric or cushioning to soften the hard wood. The only aspect that Peggy </span>
  </em>
  <span>didn’t</span>
  <em>
    <span> loathe about it was the sense of history it carried in the way the armrests were velvet worn beneath her fingers, from the hands of Kings and Queens that came before her. As she sat primly and listened to another peasant from the lower town asking for something he desperately needed to survive, something that she would be frowned at for indulging, she thought longingly of a chair with proper lumbar support.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Your Majesty?” urged her advisor, an older man with a smug expression and greasy hair whose name she was often intentionally forgetting, as he often intentionally overlooked the small fact that with his nephew dead, she was now his Queen. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It wasn’t as if she wanted to be Queen; it had been a strategic move to accept Arthur’s proposal, despite the unfortunate effect being bashed in the head one too many times on the training grounds with the other knights had had on his brutish personality. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“We will send him home with enough grain to feed his family, and will not collect taxes from his household through the end of the harvest,” Peggy decided.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em><span>“I do not believe that is</span></em>—<em>"</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I do,” Peggy said, waving away her advisor’s concerns. The peasant bowed reverently. Light was slanting through the great hall’s high windows, striping the floor as the day approached its end. She wished to help these people more than she already had, but her time was limited. Without having received word from the knights she had sent to the cave on the edge of the kingdom over a fortnight ago, she had much more pressing issues of her own to attend to. She stood and clasped her hands together. “That will be all for today. We will offer a night’s shelter and meal to all who have journeyed here today and did not hold an audience with me.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She stalked away before her advisor - Francis? Frederick? - could object.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Her lady in waiting, Adelina, hurried after her, their footsteps accompanied by the whisper of Peggy’s impractically long gown trailing on the castle floors.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The King’s chambers, now belonging to her, was the only place she was truly able to be herself in all of Camelot. She relaxed as soon as she was through the door, melting into her armchair in front of the fire.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Adelina supplied her with fresh wine, stoked the fire by her feet, and regarded her with more kindness than she deserved. “Is there anything you require before you take your evening meal, Queen Guinevere?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yes.” Peggy set her goblet aside. “Send for the sorcerer. I wish to question him once again.” Her interrogations had yet to yield useful information for the guards, as the sorcerer was notoriously tight-lipped on the whereabouts of other sorcerers in this Kingdom. She could hardly blame him, considering magic was punishable by death, and considering the potential for information was the only thing keeping him alive. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Though she’d never say it aloud, he was, perhaps, a better strategist than she was. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Peggy’s royal advisor - Franklin? - had expressed doubts, both verbally and through his dismayed countenance, that her prisoner was in contact with the other sorcerers at all, but she stubbornly pressed on.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Adelina curtsied. If the girl thought summoning the supposedly powerful sorcerer for a private discussion with the Queen was a bad idea, she at least knew her place well enough to not say. “Yes, Your Majesty.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It took until the logs of the fire had readjusted themselves in the flame before there was a rapping at the door. It had possibly been a half hour. Christ, she missed her wristwatch almost as much as she missed indoor plumbing. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Two palace guards, lower level knights, entered when she called her permission. The sorcerer stood in cold-forged iron shackles between them.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Lord Forwin insists that we remain for your protection, Your Majesty,” the shorter of the two guards said.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ah, Forwin. That was it. The absolute wanker.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“That will not be necessary.” Peggy regarded them with a look she knew could cow men with tougher demeanors and more battle experience. “I need privacy for my interrogation. You will wait down the hall.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The knight who had spoken looked hesitantly between Peggy and the prisoner, but eventually bowed and took his leave. His companion followed suit. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The sorcerer shuffled further into the room, lifting his head from where it was tipped forward. His face was streaked with grime, pieces of straw stuck through his beard and the rest of his hair, from the makeshift bed he’d been allowed in his cell. The shackles on his wrists and ankles were meant to dull magic, though she knew how easily he could remove them if he wished to escape.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You appear in good health, my lady,” he said, with a minute, and unnecessary shake of his head; his words alone would have given her answer enough to the question she was not yet able to ask.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Peggy set her goblet down. She pulled a pin from her hair, letting it fall in waves across her shoulders. She circled him. “Have you decided to confess to your crimes?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“And what crimes would those be?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“The charge of witchcraft. Another has come forward with an accusation, as well. Apparently you were seen three years ago slaying a chicken with only your mind as a weapon.” She rolled her eyes. Steve’s alibi for that night was conveniently living over one thousand years in the future at the time, though she wasn’t able to mention that to the supposed witness.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Steve looked to the door, lowered his voice. “They’re far enough down the hall, now.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Peggy wasted no time in stepping close to him and using the pin to pick the lock of the shackles. Steve shook out his hands - she winced at the raw, red skin of his wrists - and she knelt to release his feet. “I haven’t heard anything from the scouting party.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I was worried you’d say that.” He offered a hand to help her to her feet. “If we have any chance of getting home, you and I will have to head to that cave on our own, and try to open up whatever portal it was we activated that weapon.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“How am I going to come up with a reason for the two of us to travel anywhere together?” Peggy plucked a piece of straw from his head and flicked it toward the fire. “Forwin will claim I’ve been enchanted by you. He’s already attempted to unseat me once before.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You know, this all would have been easier if you hadn’t said your name was Guinevere.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I needed an alias to blend in!” she huffed.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You didn’t need to pick the name of the future Queen.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“How was I supposed to know that the King was going to fall in love with me? And I thought it was all legend, anyway.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Either way,” Steve started, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his hand straying to adjust the simple golden crown on her head, “you could have said no to the proposal.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Peggy glared up at him. “He would have declared me a witch and had me killed. And I’m not the one who got myself caught lifting more than a human should be able to; I had to get access to the palace dungeons somehow, to save your sorry arse.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He tilted her head up and met her in a kiss that felt too soft after weeks apart. “I missed you, Peg.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Her frustration melted and she pressed closer to his warm chest, bookended by the heat of the fire at her back. “Have you been managing at night? It’s been snowing all day. I can have another blanket sent for you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Pretty sure that the Hydra device that shot us back in time left me feeling a little worse off than a cold night could.” Steve chuckled, his thumb still on her chin, a twinkle appearing in his eye. “Maybe you’ll feel better if I perform a little magic.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“That is your worst line yet,” Peggy muttered, but went on her toes, let him kiss her, tease her mouth open. His hands made for the ties on the back of her dress. "We should discuss our plan."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"There's time." Steve mouthed a line to her ear, worried her lobe between his teeth… </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peggy cleared her throat. “Queen Guinevere and the Sorcerer ran away that night, and found the cave. I think that’s enough of a bedtime story for tonight.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jane’s face contorted itself into her </span>
  <em>
    <span>scheming</span>
  </em>
  <span> pout, a pre-emptive frown for the times she was struggling to think herself out of something she didn’t want to do. “But that wasn’t a Christmas story!” She wiggled her legs around under the covers, peering up at Peggy. “What happens next?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure it was,” Steve cut in from the doorway. “They came home just in time for Christmas that year.” He joined them on Jane’s other side, comically hanging off the edge of the twin bed that he’d hardly fit in without two other occupants, and handed her a mug. “Warm milk with a touch of peppermint in it, for the Princess.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I thought we were trying to get her highness to sleep?” Peggy asked, thinking of all the gifts that still needed wrapping, the empty stockings hanging from the mantle, the cookies to arrange and set out for Santa, let alone the work she still had waiting for her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jane took a sip of the milk, and spilled some on the threadbare stuffed dog tucked into her arm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I took care of most of it while you got her settled,” Steve said vaguely, producing a napkin and dabbing at the spill, winking at Peggy over Jane’s head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Does that mean I can get another story?” she asked, beaming up at them with her gap-toothed smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” Steve said, at the same time as Peggy said, “Fine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He raised his eyebrows at her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s Christmas Eve,” Peggy sighed, leaning back on the headboard and smoothing out Jane’s bangs. “What sort of story would you like to hear this time?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The princess story!” She started to lie back down, holding the mug out now that she was finished with it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>Peggy took the milk before more could spill, and briefly considered which type alcohol she might add to it once Jane was asleep</span>—rum, if they had any left. <span>“There’s not much to that one, love.” She patted Jane’s leg as she got up from the bed.</span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But the princess is in it!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not until the very end.” Steve stood, dropped a kiss to the top of her head. “The Queen and the Sorcerer didn’t even know about the Princess until they’d been home for a while.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jane yawned, attempting to talk through it. “I like that story.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peggy kissed Jane’s forehead and tucked her in. “I’m glad. Now, get some sleep. Santa can’t come when you’re awake.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But I’m not tired,” she whined.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t you close your eyes and pretend you’re sleeping?” Steve suggested, flicking the light off as they made it to the door. “Santa won’t know the difference.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She shut her eyes with a quick nod and snuggled back down into the covers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That was a good idea,” Peggy whispered, following Steve to the living room. Most of the presents were already wrapped and under the tree, but the stocking stuffers were still out on the coffee table. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have them every so often.” Steve grabbed a few things and brought them to the fireplace. Jane’s stocking hung in the middle, Steve and Peggy’s on either end. The mantle was cluttered with a clay pot Jane had made in art class a few months before, various Christmas decorations, a few candles, a photo of the two of them on their wedding day, and in the center, a re-purposed cake stand holding a crown. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She walked toward it, touching it with the pads of her fingertips. She couldn't believe it was seven years ago today that they'd returned. They had spent a year in medieval Britain after their search for a Hydra cell in Wales. When they'd returned, they were shocked to realize less than a minute had passed.<br/>
</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then again, Steve was probably less shocked; he was an experienced time traveler by then.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I do miss it, sometimes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What, being in charge? I thought you’d have enough of that with SHIELD. Or is it keeping me chained up in a dungeon that you enjoyed?” he teased, shooting her a grin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peggy rolled her eyes. “It was the simplicity of it. No ringing telephones, no threat of nuclear war.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No running water, no electricity…” Steve picked up the crown. She turned toward him as he placed it gently on her hair. “I’m also pretty sure that you prefer the desk chair in your office to that throne. But I gotta say, this is a good look for you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do we do when Jane learns of the legend of Queen Guinevere, who reformed Camelot in a few months, and ran off with a sorcerer?” she asked, swiping a piece of chocolate from the small pile on the mantle before Steve could drop it in her stocking. Her posture was usually impeccable, but she could feel herself standing taller with the added weight of gold and the crown’s inlaid jewels. "There are paintings of me in history books."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She’ll believe it’s just a legend, like most people do.” Steve lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to it. “Will you deign to help me finish with the stockings, Your Majesty? My magic alone will not be enough.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not a Queen anymore,” Peggy said, her lips tugging into a smile despite herself. She pulled her hand away from his to remove the crown, set it back on its stand. It reflected the Christmas tree lights, the glow of the lamp in the corner of the room. “And,” she added, starting to distribute candy canes, “you were never a sorcerer.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve pulled a sprig of mistletoe out of his pocket and dangled it above her head. “That doesn’t mean I can’t work some Christmas magic.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peggy’s laugh was soft as she went on her toes to kiss him. There was a draft coming in through the fireplace, where only a few embers were left. “You’re ridiculous,” she said against his lips, pushing her fingers through his hair, pleased to find no stray pieces of straw. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She might not have had her lady in waiting to supply her with endless wine and stoke the fire through the night, but she had Steve, warm and safe and clean in her arms, and their brilliant Jane, sleeping soundly down the hall. Even a Queen couldn’t want for anything else.</span>
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